


my heart will never be the same

by irishais



Category: Final Fantasy XV, Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M, anyway here's a birthday present for one of the raddest people i know, i'll die mad about how this movie treated luna and nyx, post-battle sex and feelings, simultaneously even!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 02:56:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishais/pseuds/irishais
Summary: No one comes out of a war whole, no matter how they try to patch themselves back together. Lunyx, some emotionally compromised sex, and trying to reclaim oneself.





	my heart will never be the same

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TwoCatsTailoring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoCatsTailoring/gifts).



“Nyx--” 

“Don’t say anything.” 

He will not acknowledge the hurt, the way something inside of him is irreparably damaged, burnt to ash. The entire world smells like the kings’ fire, no matter where he is-- he wonders if it will ever change, if it will ever go away. 

Lunafreya’s lips are a more distracting thing than the pain or the stench; a warm, soft balm that he seeks out instinctively. Besides, if he’s kissing her, she can’t fret over him. 

His arm wants to stay right where it is, strapped against his chest in a mess of a sling and bandages, but Nyx wants it to take her hands, pin them above her head against the thin camper mattress before her fingers come for his scars again; he compromises by using his left hand. It isn’t the same-- with his balance thrown off, he’s little more than useless weight against her. 

Eventually, he might be a whole man, again, not this shambling mess.  _ This _ isn’t how this is supposed to go,  _ this _ isn’t some fairytale coming together, all soft glancing kisses and gentle touches.

He needs to feel something, anything, as long as that thing is Lunafreya’s warm skin and every curve of her body. 

(He has never  _ needed  _ this so much in his life, the frenetic energy of battle and the certainty of his mortality ceding toward the most immediate source of satiation they can  _ have _ , and Luna, gods bless Luna, she is  _ willing _ , even if she keeps trying to pin him still, like a butterfly under glass.)

It has been two weeks since Drautos (Glauca, whatever the _fuck_ his name actually was), since the fall of Insomnia. They have done so little outside of run from Niflheim and sleep in shitty roadside motels and fuck on creaky mattresses and eat greasy diner food, and eventually that pattern will need to break. Not tonight, he can’t cede to real life yet. 

War nips at their heels. He will deal with it in the morning, honest. 

“ _ Nyx _ \--” 

“Stop  _ worrying _ about me-- here, come  _ here _ ,” and even one-handed, he can still roll on his back and drag her atop him, her blonde hair escaping like sunlight from its twist, her hips rolling instinctively against his. Nyx groans in relief; she is no blushing virgin, but she still makes him feel like he’s sullying something precious. 

It occurs to him a second later that she’s got a better view of the mess of his body this way, but her hands slip between them instead, and draws him into her. Thank the  _ Six _ she does, because it allows him to dig his hand along the curve of one slender hip, to carve his palm up along her ribs. The scar of her gunshot wound is all but gone, proof positive of curative spells hard at work. She’s the godsdamned  _ Oracle,  _ after all-- if she can’t heal herself, what good is she against the Scourge? 

He avoids touching what’s left of the wound, and slips his hand around her breast instead, rough thumb across taut nipple. Luna sucks in a breath, her erratic pace stuttering for just a second. Her hair clip slips from its perilous grasp on her hair, clattering to the floor. Neither of them notice. 

This mattress doesn’t squeak; the trailer barely rocks, but the urgency between them is still there, keen as a knife, desire that had grown like a carefully banked flame now a ferocious, hungry  _ thing. _

Nyx has to close his eyes when it’s too late to stop himself from coming, his heart loud as gunfire in his ears, his cry a wordless one. Luna shatters a second later, and she muffles her own desperation against the palm of one pale hand.

“You  _ idiot _ ,” she breathes out, even as she still pulses around him, her voice shaky, the smack she lands on his good arm actually kind of painful. “You’re  _ bleeding _ , that’s what I was trying to tell you. You tore your stitches.” Poking him next, right in the ribs, holding up her hand to show him the red smear along her index finger. 

“I’ll survive,” he exhales, catching her hand instead to plant a kiss there. Luna rolls her eyes.

The blood perfumes her palm like copper-stained sylleblossoms. He draws the scent in deeply, and tries not to let go. 


End file.
